A Treatise on Domestic Harmony
by FeliceB
Summary: A miasma of discontent has descended upon Pemberley once more. Can Elizabeth use her wits and clever tongue to bring the household back into harmony? This challenge inspired one shot is for mature readers only.


**A/N: First things first, this is a short one shot for** **mature audiences only** **, I swear if you are under 18 and you read this your eyes will shrivel up like raisins and fall out of your head. Yeah, really!**

 **This little drabble proceeded out of a chat challenge, the lovely JAFF chat chick (who shall remain nameless) had a real gripe with some JAFF and the romance genre at large. It seems many of these fictions had a lot of female centric oral action, a rather disproportionate allocation of oral attention. And after the heroine has been eaten out half a dozen times or more, when she offers to reciprocate our dashing hero says something to the effect of, "Oh no, I could not ask you to do such a thing, do not fear my darling, my precious flower, your pleasure is my pleasure."**

 **Realistic portrayal? I think not! If you have such a man in your life, you have found yourself a rare boneless unicorn. But aside from that, also plain not fair. These men who embody our ideals, on the pages of books and the internet, deserve a little love for their tireless projected perfection.**

 **So here you have a blow job fiction, thrown down to restore the karmic balance for male heroes everywhere (though the chat prompt specifically said it was a Jane Austen man who had to get his).**

 **The lovely Jane Austen did create many of the characters you recognise, but a number of the people who appear in this fic are derived from my devious little mind as does this specific story. So I reserve the rights to this work, it is not to be copied, shared or reproduced in anyway without my express permission, so be cool guys!**

 **Oh and any underage readers who may still be here…Naughty!... Do you want your eyes to turn into itty bitty raisins?**

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Elizabeth rubbed her eyes wearily as the blubbering boy exited the mistress's study. He was the third one this week. To think that she had this worry to add to her manifold concerns at a time when she was least equipped to handle them. Something had to be done.

She shifted her aching buttocks on the chair, and made a mental note to bring in one more cushion from the drawing room, a nice, big, soft one.

A robust kick to her ribs diverted her attention and marred her countenance with a curious blend of a wince and a smile.

It was nice to know she had a strong, healthy babe in there — if only he would rest once in a while, thus allowing _her_ some rest. And did he have to strike her repeatedly in such a tender place? Another punt, even stronger, assured her that yes, yes, he did.

Elizabeth could only be thankful that this child, undeniably male, did not have the fascination with her bladder that Alexander had indulged in two years before.

The first time the long awaited Darcy heir had launched himself onto her bladder, she had been seized by a wordless panic. The rush of warm fluid, without any accompanying sense of urgency or warning, had led Elizabeth to believe her waters had broken and the baby was coming too early for survival. She had immediately summoned the midwife.

She remembered her mortification when the canny old lady had explained, "Naught is amiss beyond a bit of piss."

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth had replied.

"You wet yourself girl."

Elizabeth had bristled at the informal address as much as at the implication. "I well know when I need to relieve myself and I can assure you, I felt no such sensation."

Mrs. Kirkwell had shrugged her wizened shoulders. "Suit yourself then, but I tell ye, if they do it once, they be doing it again soon enough."

It was beyond comprehension that her husband had nominated the rather uncouth little woman to be her midwife, but Fitzwilliam, being Fitzwilliam, was nothing if not insistent.

Mrs. Kirkwell had become known as somewhat of a marvel in the area, pulling many a mother through the most difficult births. Fitzwilliam had heard about her exploits through Lord Greyson from neighboring Bichenfree Hall.

Lady Greyson had been in labour for three days when the exclusive town physician engaged for her care had advised her husband to prepare himself. The desperate and sleep deprived man had sent all of his available staff haring through the countryside for a second opinion. They had supplied Mrs. Kirkwell, who was not much to look at, but in a matter of hours had miraculously delivered babe safely and had the mother resting peacefully.

Thus her rather novel care model and equally peculiar bedside manner passed from the lowers classes into the gentry and everyone else in between.

Well, the old crone had been right. Before the month was out Elizabeth had another 'incident'. And to her utter humiliation they had kept happening, in increasing frequency, until her rather active baby turned head down, making ready for the final show.

But this had spawned a new problem, a problem detrimental to the whole household…

When Elizabeth had repeated the results of the good Midwife's latest examination and her predictions of a baby by September twelfth, if not sooner, her husband had managed to get a rather ridiculous notion into his head…

During a particularly delicious lower backrub, Elizabeth had pulled her husband's left hand from her hip, guiding it up her side and brought it to cup a full breast, a clear invitation and request. Wriggling backward, she ground her bottom into his groin. To ensure her Fitzwilliam could in no way mistake the direction of her thoughts.

She was both surprised and dismayed when her usually amorous husband shifted away from her and even had the audacity to pick up a book.

Getting up and sitting cross legged on the bed –admittedly not as comfortable a position as it had once been –she had glared at the man in a mounting fury.

Not looking up from his book, or acknowledging her in any other way, her husband had spoken, "I think we should refrain from marital relations."

"Oh, do you now?"

Rising to the bait of her patently disrespectful tone, Fitzwilliam had snapped his book shut. "Yes, I do."

"Might a concerned party ask when… or perhaps why you have come to this rather nasty determination?"

Instead of meeting her sharp enquiry with an equally sharp retort, her husband's face had crumbled. Shuffling towards him on her knees, Elizabeth had pulled his face into her bosom, which had swelled most impressively with her pregnancy. Stroking his hair, she had surreptitiously tugged down her low-cut nightgown a tad and angled his face a little closer to her right nipple. She was happy to comfort him, and if her proximity undermined his resolve, then all the better.

He had mumbled something into her chest. The buzz of his lips had tickled her pink little tip, incredibly sensitive from her advanced pregnancy. Elizabeth had moaned involuntarily.

"You are not listening to me at all," Fitzwilliam had said, snapping his head back and making her poor breast feel bereft. "The baby could come any day now, through your birth passage… the same place I spill my seed…" he had finished on a horrified whisper.

Elizabeth had raised an eyebrow, and silently prayed for patience… If Mr. Simmons, the late rector of Kympton, had not already been eight years in his grave, Elizabeth would have strangled him.

Madly in love with her betrothed and perhaps indecently educated on the intimacies of man and wife through covert but extensive reading, Elizabeth had eagerly anticipated the joys of the marriage bed.

In enthusiasm, attentiveness and stamina her husband had not disappointed. And yet, any time she had suggested any position or exchange outside the normal well trodden path, she had been met with protestations, "Oh no, Mr. Simmons said doing that is a terrible sin."

How such a proud man, so proud as to nearly throw over his happiness for it, could remain beholden to ideas of a man long dead was beyond her ken.

The interfering old coot had even left a letter for the Master of Pemberley in his will, to be opened on the eve of his wedding; probably with a detailed list of prohibited sexual behaviour complete with a thorough description of the eternal hellfire awaiting wanton sinners.

"I have made enquiries with the midwife, and she assures me that it is perfectly safe to attend to our marital _duties._ "

 _When had she become so manipulative_? Elizabeth had wondered. An argument on the benefit of pleasure was doomed to failure, but emphasising the duty in the matter had proven to be a moderately viable tactic.

The oft times adorable, but in this case infuriating, man had gone on to explain that a babe ought not be exposed to act an essence of sin and that if the baby passed through his seed on its way to the world, he feared it could be nothing but eternally damned.

On the whole she was content, her husband was an essentially kind man who allowed her a latitude beyond what her peers experienced; Charlotte Collins immediately came to mind. How could such a liberal individual, and husband, be so nigh on deranged when it came to matters of faith? The late Mr. Simmons of Kympton certainly had a lot to answer for.

Argue though she had, Elizabeth had not been able to combat the asinine notion with logic, pleas or even genuine tears. He had remained steadfast in his refusal to entertain his wife's desires and his own needs.

His own needs. That was the material issue.

Just days into her husband's idiotic quest to protect his child's immortal soul through abstinence, Fitzwilliam's temper had grown to epic proportions…

By the time the first Darcy baby had finally arrived, they had lost the services of two footmen, a skittering parlour maid and even Mrs. Reynolds had threatened to resign thrice.

Luckily the novelty of the new babe was sufficient to distract the proud father until she was well enough to soothe her husband's temper with standard, church-approved ruttings applied regularly.

Now approaching the crucial point with baby number two, Fitzwilliam had elected to deny his wife and himself again, and the whole of Pemberley was suffering. The stable lad who had been verbally eviscerated for handing the master the wrong riding crop was just one in a long line of upset, disgruntled and set upon staff.

Denying himself was one thing, making everyone else suffer, was quite another. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy sent for the midwife.

"I wanted to talk with you about marital relations," opened Elizabeth once Mrs. Kirkwell had settled her bony frame onto the other seat in Mrs. Darcy's little office.

"I already told ye, if you feel fine ye are fine. Stop if it begins to hurt otherwise you can safely swive to yer hearts content right up to yer time," groused the uncouth little woman, switching idioms and accents.

Once again Elizabeth wondered at the woman's history. She seemed to vacillate between three patterns of speech, either because she had travelled a great deal or to intentionally obscure clues to her origin.

Shaking off the irrelevant line of thought, Elizabeth mustered her courage. "I want to know in what other ways I can give my husband pleasure, since he will not complete our union when the childbed comes nigh."

"Ha! So that be the source o' his temper, not a boil on his ass. Mrs. Burrows owes me two shillings!"

"Putting aside the gross impropriety of wagering on our private affairs, I ask you again if you have any advice on how to improve my husband's temper if he will not engage in typical intercourse."

"I be no whorehouse proprietor, but I liked ye from the moment I saw ye, and yer husband has the weight of the world in his balls, to be sure," said the midwife irreverently. She then reached over to pick up Elizabeth's quill and a sheet of hot pressed paper without so much as a by your leave.

"Charcoals or even pencils would be better," the little woman demanded, slipping into a perfect diction. Rather than argue, Elizabeth merely went to a shelf on the far side of the room, silently supplying the requested materials.

Elizabeth called for tea while the midwife furiously scribbled. Drawings and instructions filled many sheets until, perhaps two hours later, the woman was done. The only thing more mortifying than the contents themselves were the terse explanations the midwife heaped upon a red faced Mrs. Darcy.

"Oh… I never could…. Oh," said Elizabeth pressing her palms against her heated cheeks. "Isn't that a terrible sin?"

"Well don't do it then, but I must say you never struck me as a God fearing type of ninny," Mrs. Kirkwell said with her trademark lack of finesse. "One day you will be able to sort him out with yer hands but until he gives 'imself over to you good and proper-like, ye need to be more…. Well ye've got a clever tongue with words, ye'll figure it out girl!"

And like a summer storm, she was gone. Elizabeth spent most of the afternoon studying the skilfully rendered but undeniably lewd instruction sheets. For all the coarseness of her speech, Mrs. Kirkwell's spelling was perfect and her hand elegant, but as night approached, Elizabeth declared it a mystery for another time.

Elizabeth was late arriving to dinner, partially from reading, partially from tending to young Alexander who was quite anxious over the light storm. If he had not settled by the close of the evening meal, she may have to spend the lion's share of her night in the nursery, meaning she would have to defer her plan to another night.

Her tardiness, which would have passed with a benign enquiry on what had kept her, or a small welcoming squeeze, was instead met with her stone faced husband. Fitzwilliam's dark eyes surveyed her head to toe and when he flexed his jaw she could almost hear the bones cracking.

Instead of settling in the music room, as was their habit, Elizabeth requested that they retire early. She suggested that he settle himself in bed while she briefly checked on Alexander. Her husband's inclination was to resist, evidenced clearly by the set of his shoulders, but placing a petite hand in the middle of his chest, and looking up at him with her very best puppy dog eyes she implored, "The babe makes me so tired… please?"

Thus twenty minutes later she found him already dressed in a soft nightshirt, seated against the headboard, grumpily reading a book. He looked up at her approach but quickly re-directed his eyes back to the tome as she began to disrobe.

"Where is your maid?" he enquired sharply.

Elizabeth shrugged. "I purchased these wrap dresses in London, they are the cleverest thing. The enclosure slips under the ribbon, so you can undress yourself with ease."

She gestured to the embroidered sash, waiting until his gaze alighted on the tie before opening the dress down the middle. His eyes widened. She had stopped wearing stays weeks ago, and thus he was treated to a view of her midsection and plump breasts, barely obscured by her translucent chemise. Elizabeth tried to hide her smile, and watched his Adam's apple bob slowly as he swallowed. The hands gripping the book displayed a discernible tremble.

With as much grace as she could muster in her rather gravid state, Elizabeth advanced toward her husband, climbing up on the bed and crawling on all fours until she reached his position. Pushing the book down gently with one hand, she leaned forward and ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, giving a little sigh of longing.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice laden with frustration and desire.

"I simply want to kiss my husband, whom I happen to love. There is nothing wrong with that, surely." She immediately sealed his lips with a firmer kiss, before peppering his jaw and then his neck with quick pecks.

"If you keep it to kisses… but we must not… and your kisses are torture to me when I know we cannot enjoy fulfilment.. agghhh!" his spoken voice was husky and he thrust his hips up into the air involuntarily.

"But living even these three days without your kisses has been torture to me. Fitzwilliam…"

He nodded his assent and she began her assault anew on his neck, drawing back to his firm mouth for the occasional dip and duel of tongues. Though his breathing became laboured and peppered with frequent deep groans, he still had a large hand curled around her hip. Firmly but gently holding her body in place, preventing her from shifting forward from where she perched just above his knees, should she act to take her rightful place straddling his thighs, preferably impaled on his manhood.

In a pre-planned manoeuvre, Elizabeth roughly pinched one of her husband's nipples through the thin fabric of his summer night shirt while dexterously running her tongue over his teeth. When she felt his moan vibrating through his mouth, she dropped her hand to quickly slide the tented fabric off his erect member. He hissed through his teeth, nearly catching her tongue between them, and his body went stiff.

Coaxing his lips open again she continued to kiss him, making no move to grasp his manhood, ostensibly ignoring the way it bobbed and swayed, begging for her tender attention.

She noted that even as he again succumbed to the rhythm of the kisses, the hand that gripped her thigh still exerted a firm 'away' pressure. Feeling twitching and wet from his proximity and exposed state, Elizabeth could admit a strong temptation to move forward and lower her moist heat onto his firmness.

Instead, she rubbed her face against his chest, before gripping the sides of his night gown and pulling them apart with a violent jerk. The thin fabric, soft from many wears and washes, came apart easily, ripping all the way down to the seam at the hem. Another short but powerful tug allowed her to separate the garment fully.

"Ah…. Mmmmm!…," he exclaimed, arching his masculine back. "Elizabeth, perhaps this has gone too far… I think—"

Elizabeth placed her hands down on either side of his thighs, and inched her body back just a tad, giving every impression that she was backing away. But rather than continuing her shuffle down his legs, as he no doubt expected, she swiftly lowered her head and took the head of his turgid shaft into her mouth.

His breath exploded out of him in a keening wail, "Ohhhh…. Fuck!... Lizzy what are you doing?"

If she had listened to his words alone, she might have surmised that, contrary to Mrs. Killwell's instructions, she was hurting him. He had never used such a coarse term in her hearing before, but the way he thrust his pelvis up, shoving his erection deeper into her lips betrayed his enjoyment.

Easing off slightly, she ticked the ridge just below his head before speaking.

"Fitzwilliam let me love you."

 _Lick._

"It is just like a kiss."

 _Lick._

"I will stop if you ask me to."

 _Lick. Swirl. Lick._

"If you say stop, I will…. But my darling…"

She gripped him with her mouth, tugging and massaging, while she waited for his answer, straining her ears. She could hear the rain pattering against the bedroom window, the muted thump of her own heartbeat, but he said nothing.

When his hands came up to cradle her head, she fully expected him to gently pry her from his body, but instead his hand tangled in her curls and he scraped his fingers lightly across her scalp, while he rocked his hips against her. It was all the invitation she needed.

Taking a deep breath through her nose and feeling just a little ridiculous, Elizabeth prepared herself to execute the technique conveyed by Mrs. Kirkwell in her very lewd sketches. She slowly lowered her mouth further onto his phallus, taking the hard silky flesh as deep as she dared, allowing her teeth to graze his member as she withdrew again.

"Ahhh….. Ahhh… Ahhhh!"

Elizabeth's brows bunched together in consternation. That was the exact sound her husband usually made just before his completion. She knew he had abstained for nigh on ten days now, but it still seemed much too soon.

She drew him deeply into her mouth again, feeling the back of her throat protest slightly at the intrusion, before sliding back up again. Her husband was trembling all over, his appendage throbbing in her mouth.

This time the fingers of one hand did migrate from her hair, to cup her cheek, though his intention in the movement was not clear. She made herself ready to slide down his length once more, but the hand at her cheek arrested her southward movement.

She had gotten this far, she was not about to quit now! He had not said 'stop'! She sucked insistently on the length she still held in her mouth, making swirling circles with her tongue.

"Oh… Lizzy my love… you have to take it out… I cannot hold it any…"

She tilted her head to side, leaning into the hand that held her face. He sighed above her, whether from disappointment or relief she did not know. Nor did she care. He had once again failed to say 'stop'. He had equally not exerted any effort to make her stop, not a difficult undertaking for a man so much larger and stronger than herself.

So when she felt the fingers of the offending hand go lax, she shook them free and wrapped her mouth around him again, tugging him into her with the force of her suction.

Going perhaps a little too far this time, she gagged a little, but spurred on by the wild sounds of enjoyment her husband was making she plunged again. As his tip met the back of her throat, she felt his body go completely rigid.

Her husband emitted a loud cry, followed a series of breathless pants.

She felt his manhood jerk in her mouth before it started violently expelling his seed, right into the back of her throat. Despite being warned of this eventuality and thinking herself prepared for it, she most definitely was _not_!

She swallowed involuntarily, but his hot flesh kept pumping, forcing a little of his issue out of the sides of her mouth to collect on her chin.

The taste was not unpleasant, it was salty and earthy, though the texture certainly left a bit to be desired. Easing off his now softening manhood she swallowed once again, before lifting up to regard her husband.

He was slumped boneless against the headboard. He returned her look through half lidded eyes, his chest still heaving. Feeling the twin tracks of moisture on her face, she ran her thumb across the edges of her mouth and chin, before slipping it in her mouth and sucking it clean. Her husband gave a muted moan and shifted his legs underneath her.

Sitting upright, he reached forward and dragged her toward him, tucking the side of her head into his chest. Elizabeth burrowed into his chest hairs, waiting for him to speak.

By her count, the silence had lasted ten or more minutes, at least!

"You are not angry with me, are you?" she enquired timidly.

"No, I was just waiting to see if God would strike me down, I figured He would be about it quickly. The storm would have made it quite easy to send a stray thunderbolt my way, but here we are, whole and un-singed."

Pushing away from his chest, she looked at his face. He wore the most rakish expression she had ever seen. "You are sure that you are not cross with me. You know, having damned you and all..."

He chuckled. "Oh my darling, why should I fear hell, when I have already been to heaven?"

It was a very poetic statement for her usually taciturn husband and accompanied by a very disconcerting smile. He drew her left hand from where it was resting against his chest, sliding it between their bodies to rest it on his manhood that had clearly revived while she had been distracted.

"Again?" he said, lifting his eyebrows.

 **Don't forget to review, I love reviews! Felice B**


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